Playing football in the middle of the street

The police car sirens must have been turned off.

My political companions and I often hung out in the campaign office long after it had closed.

At about 2:00 a.m. one night., we laid out an impromptu football field in the middle of Western Avenue. It was a pretty wide road - four standard size lanes - offering plenty of space to pass, run, and choreograph clever plays. There was very little traffic to interfere with our game. The empty street met our needs very nicely.

A few parked cars obstructed our makeshift arena, so we decided that territory would be out of bounds. An imaginary line crossing the road at the alley marked the beginning of the end zone.

We didn’t expect to play a full four quarters, and we didn’t really care who won. We just wanted to goof around, so we set out to play until we no longer felt like it, or were, for some reason, prevented from continuing.

I was the first to spot the police squad cars, mars lights swirling on their roofs, as they silently raced toward us from their distant starting point.

We abruptly quit our game and hastily scampered to the safety of the nearby campaign office, turned off the lights, and huddled in the dark hideout, hoping to escape detection. Peeking out the window, we watched in puzzlement as the cars sped past us, not even slowing, continuing on a straight path, until they were out of view.

They made a habit of doing that most nights at 2:00 a.m., rudely interrupting our sporting competition, yet still frightening us, leaving us to wonder if they would return, search for us, and punish us for playing in the street.

That troubling notion was forgotten once we realized that all of the traffic signals a mile and a half in either direction turned green in quick succession. The police cars appeared to be trying to pass through all of those intersections in one continuous streak.